


Of Fear and Delight

by Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Overwatch (Video Game), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Dreamsharing, Experimental Style, F/F, Implied/Referenced Human Experimentation, One Shot, Parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/pseuds/Coffin%20Liqueur
Summary: She's come to have a muse, one might call her.An unconventional soulmate AU.
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Alex Wesker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Fandom Giftbox 2020





	Of Fear and Delight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilToTheCore13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilToTheCore13/gifts).



Across the past so-long, she's come to have a muse, one might call her.

She doesn't know from where, exactly, but when she looks inside herself

_to remind herself with pride that she's more than Spencer ever meant for her to be - more Wesker than Project -_

**through what she would count as her values, to scoff that anyone seems to think anything's missing,**

and listens to her own mental voice, she finds that it isn't quite alone.

The other voice in her head doesn't sound entirely dissimilar to hers: feminine, lowered, rich and musical and full-throated. Apropos for a woman her age. Qualities to it, regardless, that make it wholly distinct from her own. Not uncanny, but genuinely unfamiliar; another person's entirely.

_She clearly detects an accent that isn't her own, in the shapes of the vowels - Irish, she thinks._

**It's lighter than her own, and more forward, brash. Quicker to be openly mirthful in its knowing.**

She has placed it to an owner.

Sometimes, in her dreams or in quiet moments,

_or in the throes of her illness giving her trouble she'd not speak of - she supposes this leaves the glass not so **entirely** empty -_

**or while she's washed over in haze, trusting her own research and letting another experiment take hold and run through,**

_she sees a woman dressed in black._

**she sees a woman dressed in white.**

She approaches her, slowly and gracefully, with a small mockingly-knowing and -wise smile which she can certainly relate to.

When she speaks - surely enough - the sound of it is that very one she hears behind the thoughts which sound like _herself_.

_That same measured, dark brogue._

**That same lofty theatricality.**

Has she subconsciously developed a meditative tactic for herself - conjuring someone to convene with up in her minds' eye for lack of any real peers to sound off of? She supposes it's possible - even as peculiar as it is. It seems a recent advent, her noticing these things. Imagining them. Meditation has never been her forte before, having so _always_ preferred to _operate_ \- to move, and manipulate, and observe, and change. Even never one to do it, she knows that it isn't at all an unconscious process. She's never set out to... _meet_ this stranger in her mind deliberately.

_Perhaps it had simply sunk in further that she was down a brother - that there were things missing and out of place._

**Perhaps things had gotten dull. Perhaps she'd needed a fresh injection of life into her work that took putting two heads together.**

Whatever the case, this... _muse_ of hers - ha... she'd even asked for her name:

_Moira, it was -_

**Alex, it was -**

certainly did serve a purpose.

This _character_ was a woman of science, like herself. Similarly ambitious, similarly proud, similarly brilliant, and similarly ruthless.

In the more... _visual_ of the times they convene together, they approach each other mirroring each other's grins.

By now, additionally, they embrace each other fondly. It is inevitable that her own grin becomes physical, at the thought of the coming session, all tied to the visual and auditory and other sensory image of this imaginary companion of hers, and all she stands for.

A table is there before them, as all around them, a laboratory begins to construct itself. First things first, on cue, they take their seats, greeted by

_tea_

**coffee**

and their smiles barely ever fade in the sheer rapture and fascination of true erudite discussion, off a brutal intellect, a true mutual recognition of brilliance.

She admires this muse of hers.

_Moira holds nothing back, in a way that Alex has never seen before. Even dear Albert was restrained. Principled, in his own way, out of focus._

**Alex wants, an embodiment of the naturality to the irresistible pull of scientific discovery, crossing barriers, to see how far one can go.**

_Her Moira simply will. She'll know and she'll weaponize it all; find a path, or **make** it - an embodiment of the raw power of technology, study, development._

**Where is the shame in fascination with such concepts as immortality, transcendence? Reaching for them? Alex doesn't pretend that it authentically exists.**

She is a fellow geneticist, as makes sense - for a creation of her own mind to further her own inspiration in her own field.

However, her muse's _raw embodied brilliance_ is apparently such that she's capable of telling her things she doesn't already know.

_Moira can weave together tangent after tangent, as if crafting something akin to an epic poem in her discussion of biological principles, culminating into something gloriously cohesive and thematically-brilliant. Alex's mind lights up as if a torch is being shined in a room full of glass, and she sees another angle - a new modification to test to T-Phobos, or a new testing strategy,_

**Alex relates having treaded down paths that even Moira hasn't before, in studying both life and death. She has perspectives and experiences and recreations of notes to share that are both absolutely grand and utterly terrifying - at least, she can imagine, to those who would simply see the manifestation of and not the blueprints and internal workings of the things that her dear friend proposes -**

and inevitably, riding a palpable way of the exhilaration that only comes with a sudden stroke of absolute brilliant raw inspiration, she burns key notes and models and logic maps into another level of her mind's eye.

She praises this muse for her assistance; it's praising herself, really. It isn't as if she feels it's unwarranted, and her muse seems to agree. They smirk at each other, still knowing, a bit of playfulness sparkling under each of their faces. Of course they both would, if you will, be in on the joke.

And both agree that one good turn deserves another.

Each side of the dialogue gets ample turn to speak as to what's exciting her mind, _and_ to condemn that which isn't.

_Spencer was small-minded, closed-minded, a fool who hindered himself and his so-called children. She is now going to take the success that **she** has earned._

**How it wearies Moira, in the way that a chronic pain that one has learned to live with wearies one, that society is so limiting. Makes her _scrape_ , at times.**

Each understands.

Frustration turns into yet another expression of greatness. Two scientists stifled become, in this little mental pocket-dimension, if one wishes, greater spirits - taking comfort in this ability to detach it all, to see it from another level, and to, once again, know.

That knowing clicking with another consciousness, operating on the same otherworldly logic.

They wrap back around, as their discussions come toward times for them to close, into using that perspective to unwind it all again - examining with amusement at how easy it all is to toy with. What they are capable of.

They exchange compliments for brilliant minds again, knowing that they are soon to meet again, but for now,

~~their territories~~

her territory _needs_ her.

~~they have~~

She has much to do.

They bookend the embraces that their meetings start with - with another.

It's restful to cling. Let her state of mind shift as

_she gathers herself again._

**medicine or machine releases her.**

...She wonders, perhaps, if there may be a way to truly meet her someday.

To isolate whatever thought process makes up _her_.

Give it a body.

 _Her_ body.

_Her dear, infinitely-brilliant Moira._

**Her darling, ruthlessly-brilliant Alex.**

All things are, after all, possible through the pursuit of science.

How much more convenient it would be for her to be present for discussions over

_tea_

**coffee**

in person.

For the time being, however, she supposes she'll have to see to it that she always has much worth discussing to bring to that table, when she's inevitably due to come back to it with an embrace and a cordial greeting before they sit, reflected in black and white.


End file.
